


Nothing Personal

by ControledChaos



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Gore, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major Character Injury, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:47:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ControledChaos/pseuds/ControledChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swerve wakes up on a derelict Lost Light, trapped in what's left of his own bar. But he's not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Personal

**Author's Note:**

> What would happen if another group of Decepticons found the Lost Light, instead of the dreaded DJD? The answer, is still pretty terrible. To paraphrase James Roberts:  
> The Scavengers are not nice.

The last thing Swerve remembered was standing beside Skids when the lights went out again. He was pretty sure he had screamed, but couldn’t remember ever hearing his own voice. He hadn’t heard anything in fact; not the hum of the Rod Pod’s engine or Nightbeat’s ramble about why he thought everyone was disappearing. He just got a sense of nothing. Couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t even see anything. It was exactly like what Magnus had described before his human avatar had vanished in front of them. Swerve couldn’t feel his body. But only for a couple terrifying seconds.

Then Swerve could feel _everything_.

A sharp digging pain below his left shoulder told him he now had a shoulder once again. The arm attached to it was almost numb, when Swerve tried to move it a dull ache started by his wrist and shot up his arm and only added to the pain in his shoulder. His right arm was free, to his relief. He reached to his shoulder and felt something long and sharp jutting out; and wet. It was wet. He tried to move, to get away from whatever was in his shoulder to cause it that much pain but by shifting his weight he made a new source of agony known. Something huge and heavy was crushing down on his legs. They wouldn’t budge an inch no matter how much his hand pushed against it. He was trapped. His vocalizer sparked to life and a choked cry escaped him. It sounded rough with static. Like Swerve had been doing nothing but screaming for a long time. At last he chose to let his optics come online.

He was on his back, which was the first thing he noticed. The second thing Swerve noticed was that the ceiling was very familiar, as well as the huge countertop threatening to flatten his little legs. Even the sharp piece of piping that was jutting out through his shoulder plating seemed vaguely recognizable. He was in his bar. It was destroyed, desolate, but still his bar. The last time he saw it, his little hole in the wall had been growing even more holes as it had vanished under their feet. Now it still had holes, but these looked to be caused by explosions.

“H-hello?” His voice cracked. “Anyone here?” Swerve waited for an answer or even a groan in response but as he feared, he only got silence. He couldn’t see much from his position, the door and most of the room around it was completely blocked from view by his own damn counter on top of him.

“Skids? N-nautica?” Swerve strained and twisted to get unstuck. It hurt but he knew he had to get out of there. He shouldn’t be there, everything that rattled in his processor told him that much. There was no way he could be back on the Lost Light after he and everyone else got off. Right before it had disappeared. But then, maybe this is where everyone had gone, when the lights went out. They all went back to the Lost Light. What was left of it.

“Ratchet? Crosscut? Anybody out there??” He was getting louder in his growing panic. There were more than two hundred crewmembers on the Lost Light; there had to be _someone_ close by to help him. Another twist, another groan, and he really wished that someone would hurry up and check the bar before he passed out from the pain.

That was when he heard the footsteps. Heavy and hollow clanking just beyond the doorway he couldn’t see. Someone was walking just outside the bar, making Swerve’s hopes skyrocket. He was going to be saved!

In a frenzy he started thrashing his free arm, slamming his four-fingered fist on the countertop that was pinning him. “Hey! Hey! Over here!” He started shouting as loud as his aching vocalizer would let him as he pounded the metal surface. When he stopped, he could still hear the last of the echoes fading in the wrecked bar, but he could also hear the footsteps. They were quicker now, headed right for him.

“Thank Primus,” Swerve let his head fall back as he vented out in relief. The little outburst had exhausted him, but it had worked. He could hear voices now. His soon-to-be rescuer was talking on a com-link from the sound of it.

“Yeah yeah, I told you I heard something! Survivor maybe. Going to check it out.” There was a pause as Swerve heard the footsteps stop right at the door. “Pinhead, I think I found the most tragic sight ever. No, not corpses. A ruined bar. Nah, don’t bother coming up, I can handle this.”

It didn’t sound like anyone he had heard before. And Swerve was certain that there wasn’t any Pinhead on the Lost Light. All he could assume was that these guys were sent from Cybertron to rescue them, or were just passing bots that found them wrecked. In any case, they were here and Swerve needed help.

“In here!” He shouted and smacked his hand against the counter again. “I’m in here! Help me!”

“One sec, loser,” his unseen savior spoke into his com again. “Something tells me the survivor’s in here.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m right here. I’m stuck!” Swerve groaned in frustration. He slammed the palm of his hand more insistently on the countertop. He was rewarded with the mech’s footsteps coming ever closer, until he started to see the shape of a helm over the top of the bar trapping him.

Swerve finally let his free arm drop to the side as the mech got closer. “Oh thank goodness. For a second there I thought I was…” The rest of his words died in his throat. Now that he was closer, Swerve noticed a number of things wrong with his supposed rescuer. A violet paint job, red eyes, and a purple insignia on each wing announced a very big, very amused _Decepticon_.

Said Decepticon gave a loud snort. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were stuck, little guy. You look fragged to the pit!” The jet started to cackle with a laugh and two big hands gripped the edges of the bar. The weight on Swerve’s legs eased, the countertop being lifted and shoved aside like it was nothing at all. The minibot didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more terrified.

Above him the jet gave a low whistle. Swerve looked down and could see why. His knees and lower legs were crushed beyond repair. Wires and endoskeleton could be seen past some of the larger breaks. If there wasn’t the immediate danger of a Decepticon looming right in front of him, Swerve would have chosen that moment to pass out.

“Looks like you won’t be walking anytime soon,” the jet mused. “But then, you probably wouldn’t get that far anyway with legs that short.” Another snicker and Swerve felt his faceplates heat up indignantly. Without giving him a chance to respond the violet mech babbled on. “Actually, it’s not that bad! I mean yeah, your legs are almost flat, but no leaks! Your lines must have been pinched shut when the bar fell on you. And the bar even shielded you from most of the debris in here. That’s really lucky. And that pipe in your shoulder? Looks like its stopped most of the bleeding by itself just by being wedged in there. You’re just one lucky little bot, aren’t you?” the jet said with a big grin and a pat to Swerve’s undamaged shoulder. “My name’s Misfire. What about you? What’s your name?”

When it seemed that Misfire had finally stopped talking, Swerve had to reset his optics a few times, not quite sure what to make of the grinning jet above him. Yet Misfire was still staring down at him no matter how many times he fixed his vision. “Swerve,” he replied in a voice still rough from so much shouting. Something about the jet clicked in his memory banks. “Wait… Misfire? As in Misfire, the ‘Con that shot down twelve of his own teammates with a machine gun?”

“Hey, that was all a huge misunderstanding.” The most miserable shot in the Decepticon army poked Swerve with an indignant huff. “I’d tell you all about it, but we’re a little pressed for time at the moment. This ship isn’t exactly in the greatest condition.” “We?” “Yeah, me and my squad. Well, I say squad in the loosest terms,” Misfire answered and started up a new stream of chatter that left Swerve in a brand new perspective of how his own friends must have felt when he got blabby. “We’re really just one of those groups that sticks together because where else are we really going to go? What we really want is to get to Cybertron, see what’s been going on and all that, but it’s been slow since fuel isn’t cheap or that easy to find in the middle of space.” Misfire blabbered and from his subspace Swerve noticed take out a case much like a medic’s tool kit. Albeit much dirtier and stained with old energon. “Then Crankcase found a distress beacon! It was old and everything but hey, we took a chance and found this huge wreck! And Krok was all like, he’s our C-O by the way in case you’re wondering, Jackpot! Because even if it’s torn to shreds a lot of stuff is still pretty useable, and—” Swerve had to interrupt; having a good feeling Misfire probably wouldn’t stop speaking on his own accord.

“Shreds?? The Lost Light is in shreds?” He couldn’t honestly say it was much worse than disappearing from existence, but even when vanishing he had thought the ship had been in pretty good condition. “What happened?”

“Lost Light? That what the name is? Could have sworn Crankcase called it something else.” Misfire mused then shrugged, wings giving a small flutter. “Ah well, his memory isn’t what it used to be anyhow. Don’t know exactly what happened to your ship, but from the looks of things your quantum engines exploded. Can’t say why. The whole ship was torn in half.” Misfire made a gesture with his hands as if to take an invisible miniature ship and casually snap it in two. “Exploded.” Swerve had a horrible a sinking feeling in his spark. He tried to keep his vocalize from trembling in front of the Decepticon.

“Did… Did you find any other survivors? I couldn’t- It can’t just be me here. If anyone got off they couldn’t leave me here!”

“Oh, no one got off, no escape pods were deployed. We found a few floaters outside but they were probably jettisoned when the ship blew apart.” Misfire got out another box from his subspace. It looked like it was full of empty energon cubes, yet the reason Misfire would be getting those out completely went over Swerve’s head. He was too preoccupied listening to the jet to care. “So far I’ve found… maybe sixty bodies? Eighty tops, it’s hard to tell when some of them are torn up. And this isn’t even one of the bigger pieces of the ship. I don’t know how many the others found yet. And no one else has reported seeing anyone alive so, yeah, you just might be the only survivor on the Lost Light.”

The casual way Misfire said it as he talked about the destruction, the death of so many mechs; it made Swerve’s tanks churn. And the way he smiled, as if they were only talking about the weather or how awesome it was that Blur won another race last week. Swerve had to clench his jaw to keep from screaming at him, the damn ‘Con. Tailgate, Rung, and Skids… poor Skids. Misfire didn’t care that all of Swerve’s friends were probably dead. Why should he though? They were all Autobots. Even with the war over, Swerve knew the stigma between them would never leave.

“How’s your fuel pump?”

The sudden question from Misfire brought Swerve back to the present and he stared up at the jet looking down with him with what looked like concern. The attention was almost jarring. “Uh, fine. I think.”

“Great! Mine ticks every once in a while, and it gets annoying sometimes.” Misfire gave a few taps just below his chassis for emphasis. “Been trying to get a new one for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Swerve’s attention flicked from Misfire to the small toolkit he had beside him. He couldn’t get a good look at the tools, but he was certain he could see some sharp edges. “So, are you some kind of medic? I thought you were just a soldier.”

“A medic? Me?” Misfire let out a particularly loud guffaw. “Hell no! I don’t have the hands for it. And Spinister would never let me near his stuff even if I did. He’s in what’s left of your medibay right now, having the shopping spree of his life probably.” Well, that didn’t make the box of sharp instruments any less suspicious. Swerve was almost afraid to ask.

“Then what’s with the tools?”

“Oh these?” Misfire held up some sinister looking probe meant to go through armor plating. “Well, with the war being over I’ve taken a new job, sort of. Me and my buddies are Expropriation Specialists. And I happen to be a pretty good syphonist.” 

Swerve wasn’t sure what Misfire meant by ‘expropriation’, but he did recall the term syphonist, and how it applied to very desperate mechs in the Dead End back before the war. Who were so starved for fuel they’d try getting it from anywhere.

Or anyone. “Misfire, what exactly do you plan on doing with those?” Swerve now eyed the toolkit with much more concern. Now he noticed the empty cubes and the dread in him grew tenfold.

“Well, Swerve,” Misfire scraped of specks of rust off the probe. “You have to understand I have only two choices. One is to carry you all the way back to the others, using up time and energy to get you over to our medic Spinister and hope we have enough parts to spare to plug up the hole in your shoulder and rebuild your legs. Granted with all these bodies hanging everywhere we just might. But then we’ll have another mouth to feed and get back to Cybertron in one piece. Primus knows Krok is still pretty mad about the _last_ Autobot we brought along.” Misfire appeared to sigh with vexation.

“Then there’s my second choice!” Misfire brightened. “Is that I take one of these, and jab it right here.” The jet quickly leaned forward and, despite how much Swerve leaned back, was easily able to place a palm on the top of his head to hold it still. The Decepticon then ever so gently touched the glistening instrument right under Swerve’s jaw. All of his friendliness had left to be replaced by something more predatory. A desperate hunger brought on by living on the edge with nothing but scraps to stay online. “I’ll hit your brain module. Quick, no energon spilled, no damage to the rest of your parts. The rest of the corpses around here don’t have much in them, they bled out from their wounds a long time ago and their parts are starting to erode. But with you, my team could live another day longer. Now with that in mind… which option do you think I’m going to take?” It was obvious enough for all of Swerve’s survival instincts to take hold.

“W-wait!” He grabbed at the wrist holding the blade just centimeters away from his throat. Fighting to keep Misfire from jerking the probe right up into his skull. In his current state, and no one else alive to help him, his one arm and his mouth were all he had to keep himself alive. “Hear me out! You don’t want to do this.”

“I’m pretty sure I explained it all clearly. Need me to go over options one and two again?”

“No no! Listen.” Swerve grasped around in his head for anything that would keep Misfire from killing him. Something that would convince the jet to _not_ recycle his body for fuel and spare parts. At last a glimmer of hope came to light.

“Megatron!” He practically gasped. “You know about Megatron?”

“No, I am the only Decepticon in the whole universe that doesn’t know who Megatron is.” The sarcasm was almost as sharp as the thick needle that was poised at Swerve’s neck, but Misfire had stopped to listen at least.

“Shut up and listen to me. Megatron is here, on this ship. The Slag-Maker himself! We were on a quest.” Swerve said, writhing desperately to get out of Misfire’s hold. “He’s our captain. Well, co-captain according to Rodimus, but he’s here and wouldn’t like you killing off any of his crew!” The jet stared down at Swerve for an uncomfortably long time before a small ‘pff’ sound started to erupt from Misfire’s lips. The pff then turned to full out laughter which erupted with such force it nearly knocked the jet backwards. He let go of Swerve to wipe at his optics, streaming bright red light. “Oh boy! Swerve, you’re a riot. I’ve heard some begging in my life, I’ve done a lot of it myself, but questing with Megatron? Really?” He cackled louder to the point it echoed in the desolate bar. “That’s got to be the most desperate story yet. Oh hey, while we’re at it did you know I’m the drinking buddy of Optimus Prime? You know about him, right?”

“Yeah, he’s my ring-tone, shut up!” Swerve said again with more urgency. He knew that once Misfire stopped listening to him that would be over. “I’m serious. After the trial, Megatron called the war off for good. He told Decepticons to lay down arms. And then took over this ship to search for the Knights of Cybertron and will you stop laughing for once?”

“Right! Right, give me a second,” Misfire was actually snorting right now as he gave an attempt to control himself. It didn’t work and he was on his knees by now, giggling madly. “Sorry. Let me guess, he has an Autobot badge now? He walks around being buddy-buddy with you and everybody? Did he tell the DJD to stop murdering people and hand out energon goodies instead? Right before your engines decided to suddenly blow up?”

“No! Well, the part where he’s an Autobot now is true, but it’s not like we asked him to do it. He put it on himself.” Swerve groaned with exasperation. “You have to believe me. Megatron is our captain, and I’m pretty sure after everything he’s survived, a little quantum explosion is nothing. So you can’t kill me or else you’ll be bringing down his fiery _Megatron-y_ wrath. Add that to your list of options!” A ping was starting to emit from Misfire’s direction while Swerve was still talking. The jet waved his hand in a spastic motion to silence the minibot while he answered his com-link. Swerve, against everything instinct told him, quieted down. He couldn’t hear who had called, but Misfire seemed to be talking to them just fine.

“Yeah, Krok?” Misfire was looking at what opened up to be a small viewing screen from his arm. His face scrunched up in a frown. “Leave? Already? But Krok, there’s still a lot of places we haven’t seen yet. Where are you? Basement? Since when did spaceships have basements? Krok? Krok, you’re breaking up. Who’s in the basement? Krok?” Misfire swore as the come-link went quiet and Swerve stared up at him in silence. Before he could try to plea again, Misfire had gotten up and was leaning over him, siphoning tools back in his hands. “Looks like we won’t be staying long enough to see the Autobot Megatron, short-stuff. Going to have to make this quick.” Swerve tried to scream, but a dark hand had quickly planted itself over his mouth and muffled him effectively. His free hand clawed at the jet’s arm, but Misfire wasn’t holding back any longer. The Decepticon was bigger and stronger, and easily tilted Swerve’s head back even as he fought.

“It’s a real shame.” Misfire let out a sigh. “I don’t have anything against Autobots. You could say I’m friends with one, kindof. I got a feeling we could have been friends too if we weren’t on our last legs, or if you had any.” He gave a soft chuckle and Swerve struggled more as he felt the prick of something sharp under his jaw. “Almost like kindred sparks. So…yeah.” His soon-to-be-murderer looked Swerve in his visor. “Sorry, Swerve. Nothing personal, but I want to go home.”

 

 

“Let him go, and you just might live long enough to get there, _Misfire_.” 

The cold voice stopped the press of the probe just as the pressure was getting painful. Both Swerve and Misfire stared at each other with blank expressions. Finally the jet turned enough so he and Swerve could see the group standing in the bar’s broken doorway. He almost felt like crying at the sight. Skids had his gun aimed right at the Decepticon. Standing by him was Nightbeat, Getaway, and Riptide with weapons also poised towards Misfire. Even Nautica was there, with her wrench out was looking ready to fight to the teeth. But the most imposing figure among them was Megatron, who didn’t even bother holding a weapon. His glower was enough to make Misfire drop the sharp tool, letting it fall on Swerve’s chassis then tinker to the floor piteously.

Slowly, Misfire let go of Swerve’s face and went to raise his hands. But there was still a small grin on the jet’s face. Even while looking down the barrels of four guns and a wrench.

“Hey, Swerve?” he chimed, and Swerve felt a bit of pride when he heard the nervous shake in Misfire’s voice. “I have to admit. I was lying when I said I was drinking buddies with Optimus.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was thiiiiis close to leaving the ending as it was. But, I love Swerve too much to leave him to his fate. Plus the opportunity to have Skids save his pal was too good to resist. This is my first work posted on Ao3 and I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
